


Strange and Eerie

by mresundance



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Cannibalism, Folklore, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Mythology - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mresundance/pseuds/mresundance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=380255#cmt380255">this prompt</a> on the Hannibal Kinkmeme:</p><p>Hannibal, fully-clothed, has Will sit on his lap, naked, and masturbate while he tells him the story of the wendigo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange and Eerie

Will shivers in the emptiness of Hannibal's home. As he wanders, he leaves a dribbling trail behind him. Hannibal will not like that at all, but he'll live. A little shower water never killed anyone. 

Will scowls and retucks the towel around his waist. He tries one door: a closet with Hannibal's immaculate winter coats. They exude the smell of his cologne and aftershave, and his hard, heady presence; like an oncoming thunderstorm, the air crackling with undischarged electricity, metallic with danger. 

It's this very presence which interests Will in Hannibal, against his better judgment. 

When he had told Hannibal that he didn't find him that interesting, it had been mostly true. True _enough_. But a small part of Will had said it so he could put a wall between himself and Hannibal. So he could keep himself from the metaphoric sharp edges which gleamed around him like a halo of razors. 

Oh yes, Hannibal is temperate, calm, in control. But he is also -- something else. Will knows this instinctively. He's often been tempted to ask Hannibal: "So, what's _your_ trauma?" but he's pretty sure he would not receive any answers. 

_You catch killers for a living, yet you want to run right into the arms of, well, whatever he is,_ Will had laughed internally when he and Hannibal had first fucked on the desk in Hannibal's office. Frantic and scrabbling, Will shoving the lamp off. It gouged the desk as it went. Hannibal had noticed of course, and the set of his lips had said enough to Will Graham. 

"Sorry. I'll pay to have it fixed. Or replaced," Will had said and Hannibal had shaken his head. 

"That won't be necessary," and his lips relaxed. 

So now, when Will briefly wonders how Hannibal would react if he simply dropped his towel and rubbed his naked body all over Hannibal's coats, he rejects the idea, despite its appeal. 

_I'm like a dog wanting to roll in my owner's scent. In my_ fuckbuddy's _scent_. Merely thinking the word _fuckbuddy_ makes Will's belly tighten with desire. 

Their liaison had also meant no more therapy, at least, not with Hannibal. Will had not thought that was a bad thing.

"Ethics," Hannibal had sniffed. Will had nearly laughed. 

"Ethics my ass," he'd wanted to say. 

But he had said: "You have your own ethical code, don't you?" 

Hannibal smiled at that as if Will had given him a great compliment. 

Will passes the kitchen now, and the dining room twice, and then an entryway and a sitting room of some kind, and the closet again. Why Hannibal has to have such a large house is beyond Will, but it seems to appease some sense of ego and order in the man. It's not a house so much as a _kingdom_ , really. Like his office. 

And why Will has no directional sense whatsoever is also beyond him, but he's been lost in worse places, places he will not think about. 

Wide double doors of dark wood glisten to him. This is not the bedroom, either, but it might give him a hint, or lead him somewhere. So he opens the doors.

Hannibal looks up from the book in his lap. He's dressed in one of his suits, seated on a leather sofa. The sofa is red as old blood and Hannibal's lips quirk in that way of his. The way they had when Will gouged his desk. But then the quirk smoothes away into something else. 

"Well Will," his voice comes out half purring. Will feels himself begin to harden. 

"I. Uhm. I lost my way. I got your floor wet. Sorry."

Hannibal says nothing. 

"Where is the bedroom again?" Will asks. "My clothes are --"

Hannibal places the open book to his left.

"Why don't you come over here, Will?" And though the words are soft, they are not a request. Will hates and loves it when Hannibal tells him to do things in that tone, which is beautiful and unbreaking as obsidian. 

Will decides to comply. As he walks deeper into the vast room, he notices the walls are lined with bookshelves, much like Hannibal's office. 

"Another library?" 

"My office library has books which I use more often. This library is just a . . . private collection. Miscellany. Things which I don't use so much, but still cherish," he trails his fingers down the open pages of the book. Will shudders, imagining himself, naked, face down on the couch, as Hannibal trails fingers up his thigh.

"What are you reading?" 

"Wendigos," Hannibal's voice rumbles and Will imagines Hannibal's mouth around his cock. 

"Wendigos? I think I've heard of them." 

"It's a myth," Hannibal folds his hands on his crossed knees. "In certain Algonquin speaking tribes. It's a myth about cannibalism."

Hannibal's eyes flicker up and down Will's body. Dissecting. Will squirms because it is pleasantly unpleasant, to be so coolly and closely scrutinized. 

"Is this the part where you seduce me by talking about cannibalism in Native American mythology?"

Hannibal smiles and it is all sharp edges and Will aches, both to run away and to come close, closer. 

Hannibal unfolds and splays those long, gorgeous legs of his. Then holds his hands up, gesturing for Will. 

Will laughs and stands between his legs. Hannibal's warm breath on his chest, those steady hands on his waist, curving down over his ass, removing the towel. It falls to the floor. Hannibal smirks at Will's erection, and then turns him with only the tips of his fingers, as if Will is the delicate little teacup Hannibal had once called him. Will settles into his lap, quivering. Hannibal runs his fingers up Will's spine. Though he knows the fabric of Hannibal's trousers and suit are fine, it feels coarse against the naked skin of his ass and inner thighs. And he feels the swelling heat of Hannibal's own erection through that fabric. 

"Do you know why people told myths and folktales Will?" Hannibal strokes the back of Will's neck and Will continues to harden. Hannibal smells of his aftershave and cologne, and the cloying after dinner wine they had shared. Will wants to turn around, push him down and ride him. But Hannibal's hands on Will are firm and won't be argued with. 

"Why do people tell myths and folktales?" Will mocks. 

Hannibal nips Will's shoulder, teeth just grazing the skin. A warning. 

"They use myths and folktales to enforce rules and social norms," he says into Will's ear. His hand reaches around and takes Will's. He guides their joined hands to Will's cock, the smell of his arousal musky in the air. Their hands wrap Will's cock -- tight, tight -- the sudden pressure making him groan. 

"Some Algonquin speaking tribes apparently had strong taboos against cannibalism," Hannibal whispers into Will's ear as they stroke him. "So the myth of the wendigo -- emphasizes -- that --"

Will whimpers, because Hannibal directs his fingers just under the head of his cock, tugging the crease between the shaft and head back, touching sensitive skin. 

"The wendigo is a creature which a person can become when they eat enough human flesh. A dark, frightful, decaying monster, emaciated and skeletal, which smells of rotting corpses --"

And none of this, Will knows, should be making him want to come. It's not so much the words themselves as the tone of Hannibal's voice, calm and smooth as an undisturbed pond; it's the strength of Hannibal's hand over his; it's the solid weight of Hannibal's body holding him. 

" -- the more the wendigo eats --" Hannibal bites Will's shoulder, hard this time, hard enough to leave a mark and Will moans -- "the more he has to keep eating. He is always _hungry_ \--"

Hannibal squeezes. Will's cock throbs and Will feels he will rupture. Hannibal bites him again, this time on what would be the scruff of his neck, if he were a dog, or a fox. Like animals rutting, the male biting the female to hold her in place. 

Will makes a small noise -- loud in the echoing space of the library -- and comes. 

He lays in Hannibal's lap, dizzy, slack. Hannibal actually _croons_ , running his hands up and down Will's back. 

"I guess I need another shower," Will says to the floor. 

Hannibal goes with him this time. 

"So you won't get lost again," he says. But then he undresses and joins Will in the shower, fucking him into the tiled wall until he is all the more boneless and witless. Could care less about anything, much less the bites burning in his shoulder and neck. It's Hannibal who suggests they be properly seen to. 

As Hannibal cleans and applies aloe to the bites, Will snorts. 

"What?" Hannibal tilts his head.

"You'd better watch out," Will says, through a haze of sex and sated desire.

"Why is that Will?" Hannibal's lips pucker ever so slightly.

"You might turn into one of those cannibals yourself." He leans towards Hannibal then, until their breaths dampen each other's faces. 

After what feels like a very long moment to Will, Hannibal chuckles.

* * *

The Weendigo was gaunt to the point of emaciation, its desiccated skin pulled tautly over its bones. With its bones pushing out against its skin, its complexion the ash gray of death, and its eyes pushed back deep into their sockets, the Weendigo looked like a gaunt skeleton recently disinterred from the grave. What lips it had were tattered and bloody [....] Unclean and suffering from suppurations of the flesh, the Weendigo gave off a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition, of death and corruption.

\- Basil Johnston

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I lifted the long blockquote at the end from Wikipedia. Don't judge me.
> 
> Also, just a random note: you say "mythology and folklore and masturbation" and I say "oh, where can I sign up? Is there a lifetime membership to this club? Can I be president of the local chapter?" etc. 
> 
> I might categorize it as a problem except mythology and folklore and masturbation all together are just too awesome for that.


End file.
